He Knew
by AnotherNamelessAuthor
Summary: "He knew that somewhere out there funeral bells were ringing. Funeral bells were proclaiming the deaths of his brother and sister."


**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. The characters are a creation of he imagination of J K Rowling, and the poetry is by Alfred Lord Tennyson.

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**He Knew**

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_I sometimes hold it half a sin_

_To put in words the grief I feel;_

_For words, like Nature, half reveal_

_And half conceal the Soul within._

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He knew that somewhere out there funeral bells were ringing.

Funeral bells were proclaiming the deaths of his brother and sister.

The deaths of two of the most precious human beings he had ever known.

He also knew that someone out there was taking his place.

Standing where he should be standing.

Saying the words none but he should be _allowed_ to speak.

They were speaking words meant to lament the dead, while smiling inwardly at their luck.

Their luck in surviving the war they were too cowardly to even fight in.

Speaking words of how _his_ two wonderful siblings were war-heroes and sacrificed so much,

(while not even knowing the meaning of the word himself, not having sacrificed so much as a knut to help end the war).

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_But, for the unquiet heart and brain,_

_A use in measured language lies;_

_The sad mechanic exercise,_

_Like dull narcotics, numbing pain._

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He knew that somewhere out there, sitting in the pews of a church a myriad of people were sitting, listening to the impostor speak of grief, sorrow and loss.

He knew that but a handful of them actually felt any of those things in that moment.

Numerous people were gathered, squeezed into small wooden pews, each trying to act more grief-stricken then the next, like it was some glorious acting competition.

For some of the few who let the silent tears of genuine sorrow, flow freely down their faces, unashamed to show the love they felt for their two lost friends, these actors would numb some of the pain.

Not with a sense of knowing they were not alone, but with a sense of anger.

Anger at the mockery these pretenders were making of these two amazing peoples' lives.

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_In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er,_

_Like coarsest clothes against the cold;_

_But the last grief which these enfold_

_Is given in outline and no more._

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Yes even though he could not hear them, he knew that somewhere funeral bells were ringing in mocking hypocrisy, signalling mourning, but portraying a secret relief and happiness.

He knew that countless people were feigning sorrow, dabbing dry handkerchiefs to their dry eyes in an attempt to hide their smiles of joy.

He knew that the biggest mockery of a funeral was taking place.

A church was being turned into a theatre.

He knew that the two people he loved as brother and sister were having their deaths celebrated as a victory.

Instead of being mourned for the loss of the two such beautiful young people they were, outside and in.

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_Old yew, which graspest at the stones_

_That name the underlying dead,_

_Thy fibres net the dreamless head,_

_Thy roots are wrapped around the bones._

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Had anyone bothered to listen they would have heard a dog howling, crying out it utter agony and despair.

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Had anyone bothered to look they would have seen the epiphany of a broke man sitting with his head raised to the ceiling.

Silent tears running down his face as he howled in a more honest lament of those two war-heroes he called brother and sister,

then anyone of the hundreds who attended the pantomime stage show, that was being passed off as a funeral.

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But no one was looking.

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No one was listening.

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And after crying out till his voice was hoarse all he could say was, "I'm innocent."

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Yet he knew it was not a happy thought or a call for freedom. He knew it was the sound of a broken man realising that all he had left was one truth.

The one truth that no one would ever believe.

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As the dementors gathered around his cell to feast, the once strong, beautiful man, sank in anguish to the ground.

He was overcome with guilt at the torment _he knew_ a baby boy hundreds of miles away was only just beginning to experience.

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But the most painful thing of all was, Sirius Black _knew _it was all his fault.

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**Authors note - **This is something that came to me the other day that I just couldn't get out of my head. I don't normally use poetry in my fanfictions but I was studying these in Uni and it just stuck. The first three stanzas of the poem come from Section 5 of Tennyson's _In Memoriam_, and the last stanza from Section 2 of the same poem. Please review whether you liked it or not. I would really apprechiate constructive criticism!


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